


Paint Me A Blue Sky

by NayaWarbler



Series: Dean & Castiel: Life As We Know It [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel and Dean Winchester Use Their Words, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Men of Letters Bunker, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Painter Castiel (Supernatural), Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:42:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28712991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NayaWarbler/pseuds/NayaWarbler
Summary: In which Dean doesn’t know how beautiful he is, and Castiel decides to take up painting. Basically, just an entire fic of Dean Winchester being stupid and stupidly in love. He doesn’t like to say it, but damn it if it’s not infused into every thought he's ever had.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Dean & Castiel: Life As We Know It [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096838
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	Paint Me A Blue Sky

“I’m going out.”

Dean looks up at Castiel, whose hands clutch the wallet Dean got him for their one-year anniversary a few weeks ago. Cas shifts his weight awkwardly from one leg to another, something he hasn’t done in years since becoming more comfortable in his body, since they… worked on it together. Dean tenses in concern.

The first question that pops into his head is _are you coming back_? He knows it shouldn’t be, that he should trust that Cas will always come back to him, especially after all the times the angel has said so quite blatantly to his face, but Dean Winchester has been burned too many times to let his heartbeat stay constant whenever someone he loves walks out the front door for whatever reason. But Cas doesn’t have to know that – fostering trust and all that bullshit – so instead, he asks, “Where are you going?”

“To the store,” the angel replies, staring at Dean’s face intently with furrowed brows. He lifts up the wallet. “I haven’t used this yet.”

“You don’t _have_ to use it,” Dean says. “I got it for you so you would-”

“Feel more connected to my worldly possessions, yes. You explained when you gave it to me.”

He barks out a laugh. “I didn’t exactly say it like that, but yeah, Angel, that’s the gist.”

Castiel blinks at the term of endearment. He always does, but never says anything, so Dean doesn’t stop saying it. “I’m going to go, now.”

“Okay, Cas,” Dean echoes, smiling despite himself when his angel invades his personal space again to give him a sweet kiss. He clings to Cas’s hand for a moment before clearing his throat and letting go. “Come back soon, k?”

Cas’s eyes soften like butter in sweltering heat. “Dean.” How does he do that? How does he know without Dean having to say the words? And how is that one soft utterance of his name enough to make him want to hold on and never let go? “You know that I’m not…”

“It’s not a thing, Cas,” Dean dismisses, turning his back and flicking through the newspaper. In his head, he curses himself out for being a clingy child. Cas is his boyfriend, not his father; he doesn’t need to babysit Dean. Although, he muses, the term boyfriend doesn’t exactly encapsulate all that they are – it never has.

“Dean-” Cas begins, concern seeping into his diamond voice.

Dean clears his throat and shrugs. “Don’t make it a thing.” _You’re the one making it a thing_ , the voice in his head mocks, the niggling one that only seems to go away in the dead of night with Cas’s arms wrapped around him from behind as he drifts off to sleep.

“Dean.” The man in question lets out a deep breath before looking up. Castiel is grinning at him. He doesn’t expect to see that – maybe Cas’s frown that makes his crow’s feet glare or the twitch of his eye that’s usually paired with a dark, serious glint, but he hadn’t expected the smile. Not that he’s disappointed, just… confused.

“Yeah?” he replies, mentally crossing his fingers that Cas won’t try to squeeze a chick-flick moment out of him right now.

“Would you like to come with me to the store?” Cas asks instead, plainly like it is the simplest decision in the world, which it kind of is, when he really thinks about it.

Dean clears his throat before setting the newspaper down and uncrossing his legs. “Sure. I mean, we’re low on groceries anyway, and Sam’s always bitching about me not helping out.”

Cas tilts his head curiously. “We’re not going to the grocery store.”

“Huh? You just said-”

“I merely referred to a _store_ ,” Castiel deadpans, the mischievous smirk growing on his lips both endearing and half-heartedly ominous.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and groans. Whatever is about to happen is _not_ going to be fun for him – he knows his boyfriend well enough to realize this fact. Still, he stands, grabs the man’s rough hand and tugs him towards the car, biting his lip to keep from smiling.

***

So, he was wrong about the last part. That much he’s man enough to admit – or some other descriptor that means the same thing but doesn’t promote internalized misogyny in society’s everyday language, as Charlie would say to him if she was here. Maybe Cas would, too, if he still used his angel mojo to read Dean’s thoughts – although he would say fancier words like ‘perpetuate’ or ‘vernacular,’ just to show off his angel mouth. Dean can think of other ways for him to show off his angel mouth that are more fun.

Anyway, the _current_ fun. There’s no other way to describe the feeling of watching Castiel promenade through the craft store across from the bakery (where Dean had, inevitably, stopped for a box), his beige trench coat practically floating behind him as he flies down the aisles. For a moment, Dean is struck with the memory, many years back, of when he first told Cas how much fun it is to be around him – the night they both thought he would die, and the only thing that would remove that suffocating, heart-stopping discomfort in his chest was walking side-by-side with Castiel into whatever they were facing, just like they always do.

Together.

Cas fills up the cart in a matter of minutes, his familiar child-like excitement catching like the embers of birthday candles. Dean doesn’t pay much attention to the things he grabs off the shelves – he does, however, watch the way Cas’s fingers trail over the objects, the way his eyes narrow as he scrutinizes something before deciding to take it or leave it behind. Idly, the thought appears in his mind that Castiel has never once looked at him that way. He always choses Dean Winchester without a second thought.

How stupid he was to be afraid that the angel wouldn’t come back.

The drive home is silent. Not because it’s uncomfortable or because neither has anything to say, but because Castiel’s attention is focused on combing through the bags of items he paid for with money from his own wallet and Dean is focused on focusing on the road instead of the way Cas’s mouth always parts just a little when he’s concentrating or how his arms flex when he tears open a package of whatever it is that he’s bought.

A horn sounds, and Dean takes a moment after flipping off the driver to collect himself. Driving is sacred, and even Cas’s exquisite… _everything_ is not a good reason to do it distracted. He really needs to work on that. Not that he hasn’t been since the minute the angel came into their lives.

It is the silence, he decides, that is making it so hard to concentrate on the road. Sure, he could turn on the radio, give Baby a little moment of self-expression (because he likes to think she communicates through Zeppelin and Van Halen), but Dean is a simple man who hasn’t heard his boyfriend’s raspy, stomach-tingling voice in almost ten minutes and is suffering from withdrawal symptoms. So instead, he says, “Cas?” in that little inquisitive tone that he tries not to think about too much for fear of what it will reveal and revels in the response he gets.

“Hmm?” the angel replies distractedly. The sound is deep and reverberates deep in Dean’s body the way it usually does, and he feels his shoulders inexplicably relax, even when he wasn’t aware there had been any tension in them in the first place.

“What are you gonna do with all the stuff you bought?” he asks. He doesn’t mean to ask that question in particular, or anything really, other than to hear Cas’s voice. He supposes it slips out of him because a part of him does want to know, the part that isn’t wholly distracted by the perfect creature in the passenger seat of his car.

“I intend to paint a picture,” Cas says easily. “That’s what the paints and brushes and canvas are generally used for among humans.”

The hunter rolls his eyes but refuses to admit that he hasn’t been paying attention. “Ha. Your sarcasm is improving, babe.”

“Your ability to not stare at my vessel when you think I’m distracted is not improving.”

Dean almost chokes on nothing. “Jesus, Cas, way to be blunt.”

The angel sets his wide, intense gaze onto him. “Am I incorrect in my observations?”

“Okay, first of all, it’s your _body_ now, not your vessel,” Dean corrects almost instinctively. They’ve had this conversation many times, and Cas seems to understand it now as he nods, unprovocative. “Secondly, can you blame me, man? You’re devastatingly handsome.”

“You’ve said that before,” Cas muses critically, but to Dean’s utter and unmistakeable joy, a faint red blush spreads across the angel’s cheeks. It’s not just that his words are able to have that effect on his boyfriend, but that Cas feels connected enough to his physical form to receive such a compliment and have it mean something other than that he is at the moment occupying an attractive shell. All the work they’ve done together must be working.

“When someone is beautiful, they deserve to be told,” Dean replies. “I’ve always thought so, at least.”

“You must have been told many times,” Cas says. 

“I guess so.”

The crease in his angel’s forehead deepens. “You _guess_ so?”

Dean shrugs again. “Never really thought about it. Sure, people say stuff. I’ve just never really believed them.”

“How could you _not_?” Dean is momentarily shocked by the vigour in Castiel’s tone, the merciless disbelief that permeates every molecule of air between them suddenly and ferociously. Cas’s shoulders are tense, and his throat seems constricted from where Dean sits.

He hates seeing him like that. So, damage control it is. “Cas, come on, it’s not like _that_ ,” he attempts, reaching a hand over to place on his boyfriend’s leg, hopefully calmingly. “I don’t think I’m ugly or anything.”

When he next looks over at the angel, he finds him fuming quietly. “All this time we’ve spent getting _me_ comfortable in this- in _my_ body,” Cas chokes out, “all the while, _you_ have been thinking so lowly of yourself?”

“It’s not-”

“Don’t.” Cas stares ahead at the long stretch of road they drive on towards home. “Don’t say it’s not like that, or it’s not a big deal, Dean. I should have realized you were thinking this way. How could I have not realized?”

“I was gonna say it’s not your problem, man,” Dean finishes, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel anxiously. He very, very much dislikes where this conversation has gone. “I mean, me being all insecure and shit. Not your problem. It’s mine, that’s what it is.”

Cas shakes his head vehemently. “You cannot possibly think that, not after all you’ve done for me-”

“Can we just drop this, Cas?” Dean grumbles through clenched teeth. His fingers curl around the wheel, grasping it tightly. Discomfort digs underneath his skin like a burrowing mole.

The angel opens his mouth for a second before slamming it shut. “Fine.”

“Cas-”

“Let’s just go home, Dean.” Cas shifts uncomfortably, the smile long gone from his face, and Dean curses under his breath at being the one to remove it. Why couldn’t he have just kept his stupid mouth shut? Cas doesn’t need to deal with all his fucking baggage. It isn’t like he doesn’t know he’s fine-looking, anyway; many women have told him just as much in the throes of… well, not passion, but enough to get by on. It just doesn’t _mean_ anything to him.

Why does Cas want it to mean something so badly?

The rest of the drive home is silent like the first half, only this time because neither has anything to say to the other. Well, nothing they are willing to say at the very least. Dean watches the road easier this time, knowing that if he looks at Castiel, there are only two possible outcomes: the first being that he would see something there that would force his gaze away so strongly and immediately that it would be rendered useless, and the second that he would never look away. Neither is particularly appealing, the latter if only for the reasoning that he might crash his cherished car.

Dean pulls into the bunker garage and kills the engine, but Cas is gone before Baby even stops purring. He doesn’t use his mojo, instead electing for the human storm-out of kicking the door open and taking long strides inside before Dean can even see his face. The man sighs and rests his forehead on the steering wheel for a moment, basking in the comfort the car gives him. Eventually he musters up enough energy to follow his boyfriend inside.

Sam is sitting in the library when Dean finally makes it inside, and he looks up at the sound of Dean’s heavy footsteps. “Damn,” his brother remarks immediately. “What did you do to Cas? Poor guy looked like he was about to cry.”

“Shut up,” Dean shoots back, lacking any of his usual fire. He grabs Sam’s beer and downs it in one go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Sam frowns, closing the book he’s got spread open on the table. “Jesus, Dean. What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I just need to be at least tipsy for the conversation Cas and I are about to have.”

“He’s in his room,” Sam supplies, trying to appear disinterested, but Dean can see the flicker of concern in his eyes.

Dean scoffs. “Stop worrying over everything, Sammy. It’s not a big deal. I refuse to screw _this_ up, which is why I’m going to go talk to my boyfriend instead of ignoring our problems.”

“So you have problems,” Sam repeats.

“No, we…” Dean pinches the tight skin between his brows. “ _We_ don’t have problems. _I_ have problems, which Cas has all of a sudden decided are also his.”

“There’s nothing sudden about that,” Sam states, blinking incredulously at his brother’s confused expression. “Are you serious, Dean? Everything Cas has ever done has been for you. Why the fuck would you even consider that your problems aren’t also his?”

“He does those things because he loves us.”

“He does those things because he loves _you_ , idiot. Which is also why he cares about whatever it is that’s hurting you. That guy would sacrifice the world for you, Dean.”

“Yeah, I wish he wouldn’t,” the man whispers. “It never ends well for _him_. It always hurts _him_.”

“That’s what love is, stupid.” Sam leans back in his chair, smiling softly. “You would do the exact same thing for him. Now, if you two get your heads out of your asses and actually talk to each other, maybe no one has to get hurt.”

“Y’know Bobby really rubbed off on you,” Dean grumbles as he heads towards the rooms, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, well Cas rubbed _one_ off on-”

“Shut _up_ ,” he shouts, already in front of Cas’s room, the one he barely ever used before but uses even less since they got together. Dean only ever finds him there when he wants to be alone, so he tries not to interrupt. Still, this is important. Hesitantly, he knocks on the door, sighing in relief when a muffled ‘ _come in_ ’ returns.

He doesn’t expect to see Cas sitting in front of an easel when he enters. He can’t see the canvas, which he’s not particularly upset about because it means Cas’s face is in clear view in all of its focused glory. And, well, the little strip of green paint across his cheek. Which is absolutely _not_ the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

“Hey there, Angel,” the man greets, closing the door behind him but not stepping any further inside.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replies. He doesn’t seem upset, or frustrated, or anything of the sort – in fact, there’s a gentle grin lighting up his face that strikes through Dean like the sweetest of swords. “Are you feeling better?”

“Am _I_ feeling better?” he echoes confusedly. “I’m fine, Cas. I was worried about you.”

Cas startles, like the thought had never even crossed his mind. “Worried about me? Why?”

“You seemed upset in the car,” Dean explains. “I thought maybe you were angry with me for saying those things about myself. I didn’t mean to upset you, really – it was stupid, anyway. I shouldn’t have burdened you with all my crap.”

“You _did_ upset me,” Cas confirms, picking his brush back up and dragging it neatly along the canvas. His eyes set in a concentrated stare, brows furrowing just a smidge, and from what Dean can see, the movement of his hands is smooth, precise, masterful. Unsurprising.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” The angel sets his brush down again with a finality that tells Dean he’s done with whatever he’s making. Curiosity pokes at his brain, but he shoves it back. This is an important conversation that he can’t put off any longer.

“Cas, we need to talk,” he begins.

“Yes, I agree,” Cas says. He gestures to the bed across from his little set-up, and Dean takes a seat on the edge of it, the way he would at a crime scene. Castiel shifts in his chair so he is facing him more directly. “Dean Winchester, you are the most glorious creature I have ever set my gaze upon in my millennia of existence, and it pains me endlessly that you do not see so.”

The air catches in Dean’s throat, and for a moment he forgets how to breathe. No has ever said anything like what just came out of Cas’s mouth to him before. He expected Cas to scold him for his self-deprecating thoughts in the way Sam would, a slap on the wrist, to be told he was handsome, even, but not a declaration so intense it shattered every logical thought in his mind. “Wh-wh…”

Cas powers through. “When I rebuilt you after raising you from perdition, I was paralyzed by the beauty of your body and soul. You shone through the torment of hell, when I set my hand upon you and gazed upon your tortured face. It was both the best and worst moment of my life, to put it in human terms. And… I was ashamed to admit it for years, which isn’t long to me but somehow felt like a whole new eternity which began the moment I laid eyes on you, I felt… I felt resentment towards my father for creating such a place that could cause you harm, Dean.”

The man, the recipient of these confessions, stares at the angel in an awe unmatched by any experience he’s ever had in his short life. “Cas, I never knew. You never said anything, and from the way you acted at first-”

“I was a soldier of heaven,” he explains. “I could not understand what I was feeling. I did not understand, in fact, until I learned myself what it was to be human after the fall. But I always felt it, from the first second.”

“I…”

Dean doesn’t respond for a while. _Too damn long_ , he’ll reply if you ask him later. Castiel stands abruptly after a few minutes and makes his way over to the righteous man, placing a hand on his cheek to ease the trembling of his jaw. Tilting that jaw up, the angel presses a gentle kiss to his lips. Dean can’t tell what he’s thinking, but he assumes that Cas has realized Dean is overwhelmed by his words, because he proceeds with the simplest yet most effective of all: “I love you, Dean Winchester, more than can be expressed by the human tongue, although far be it from me not to try.”

The tension in his back and shoulders drains slowly as his angel holds him close. This time, the reply comes easily to him, slips out from his lips like how they take each other’s clothes off at night, sweetly, softly. “I love you, too, Cas. More than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone.”

That must be the right answer, because Cas stands from where he’s been kneeling in front of Dean and grabs the man’s hand. “Come with me.”

“Are we going to the store again?” Dean jokes, wanting to combat the redness in his face with any kind of humour that can lighten the heavy mood. “We know how well that ended last time.”

“No, Dean, we are not going back to the store. I purchased everything I required during our first trip.”

“It was a- right, Cas. What do you want to show me, then?”

“This.” Cas flips the easel to face them both, and a startled choke emerges from Dean’s throat. On the canvas is a portrait of Dean, the colours vibrant as though crawling out from the page. His jaw is tilted upwards slightly, lips parted as his eyes glance towards some object in the sky, lashes long and dark and sultry as they cut the page in half. Light and shadows play against the sharp lines of his face, and his figure exudes an almost heavenly, golden glow – his _soul_ , or how Cas had once described it to look, but never has he seen it so clearly before him. Is this how Castiel sees him? This man… This wonderful, beautiful, worthy man?

“Wh-What…” Dean sputters, reaching an arm out to touch the gleaming portrait. Suddenly, Cas is pressed up against his back, fingers clutching around his wrists and pulling them down to his sides. His mind goes blank.

“The paint is still wet,” Cas whispers in his ear, low and growling. “I can’t have you ruin this painting. It’s my favourite.”

“It’s your… your only…” Any train of thought Dean once had is long gone as his boyfriend’s breath fans against his ear. Yet for some reason, he can’t bring himself to tear his eyes from his own picture. “Hhh _…_ _Cas_ …”

“Do you understand now?” the voice rumbles, so close that he can feel it in his gut. “Do you see yourself how I see you? I am an Angel of the Lord – my hands are skilled, my eyes see clearly. This is what you are, Dean. Perfection.”

And that’s the breaking point. Dean can’t take another minute where he and Cas aren’t wrapped up in each other, so he rips himself away from the portrait and pulls the angel into him in a graceless, clunky movement that knocks their noses together painfully and makes his joints ache in protest the way they didn’t use to when he was younger. But when Cas’s arms come around his waist, the pain is gone and suddenly Dean’s back is pressed against something soft that gives way to his body, and oh, it’s Cas’s memory foam mattress, and isn’t that something.

He makes a sound that would be embarrassing if Cas didn’t swallow it whole, and the world goes fuzzy at the edges like it does when he’s drunk, only he’s had just one beer and he’s glad about that for the first time because it means he’ll remember this in the morning. Usually – before Cas – he didn’t even mind forgetting the next morning, because his bones were still pleasantly hollow and his blood seemed to circulate better so who really needed to know anything more than that there was warmth and closeness and connection? Maybe it hurt less once they were gone that way. But now, now he wants to remember every scrape of Cas’s fingernails against his cheek, wants to revel in how heat rises and follows Cas’s touch like magnets, how Cas’s lips are chapped but he likes it because they catch on his skin and it burns just right.

Dean wants to remember, and he does, and so does the mattress.

***

Sam is in the kitchen when Dean wanders in the next morning, robe stretched around his t-shirt from the day before and a pair of sweatpants that could be either his or Cas’s, not that he really cares apart from wanting a concrete reason to wipe that smirk off his brother’s face. He positions himself in front of the coffee pot and starts it half-heartedly.

“I see you got your head out of your ass,” Sam comments, sipping at what looks like a green smoothie but could just be juiced lettuce, knowing him.

“I guess,” Dean retorts, mind barely functioning from, well, the night before, mixed with a distinct lack of caffeine in his system.

Sam chortles. “Just in time, too, to make room for Cas’s-”

“Dear god, give it a rest!” Dean groans, hiding his face in his palms.

“I’m sure you had a nice rest after-”

“I do not understand why making sexual innuendos about your brother amuses you, Sam,” Cas’s voice interrogates from the doorway. Dean doesn’t look up from his coffee, but his smile triples when the angel comes up behind him and wraps his arm around his waist again. “Good morning, Dean.”

“Morning, Angel,” he murmurs, turning his head to press their lips together. He almost forgets Sam is sitting there, smug, until he turns back and sees it with his own eyes. Dean flips him off. “Find a new hobby, bitch.”

Sam holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I just like seeing you two happy. Nothing else.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Flicking on the radio, Dean busies himself then with preparing breakfast, digging the carton of eggs out of the fridge and propping up some onions on a cutting board. He’s so engrossed in his work that he doesn’t even notice when the other two men sneak out of the kitchen – he only realizes once the table is set with food that no one is there to eat it.

Wiping his hands on his apron before taking it off and hanging it on the back of his chair, Dean hurries out into the library, searching for the two. “Sammy? Cas?” he calls out, pausing for a moment at the table to admire the initials carved into the wood. _CW_ _– Castiel Winchester_. The angel is already a Winchester, through and through, but Dean can’t help but wonder…

“Yes, that is the ideal location.” Dean spins around to find Cas and Sam lifting something up into the air. They centre it carefully before peeling off the white sheet that covers it, and Dean flushes a deep scarlet. His portrait is displayed on the mantle besides the few photos they’ve had developed and framed over the years: the brothers at Sam’s high school graduation, the three of them spending Christmas together, a candid shot of Dean and Cas in a sweet kiss that Sam must have taken secretly.

“I didn’t agree to this,” Dean exclaims, cheeks burning ferociously. “Cas, babe, why…”

“I would like you to see this portrait often, Dean, so that it reminds you of our talk,” Cas explains, fixing an imploring look onto him that had no business being so convincing. “I fear that if we display it in your room, you will attempt to distance yourself from it. But I see how often you come here just to glance at these photographs, and I hope that this addition will not deter you from doing so. Please, if you would like me to remove it…”

“No, it’s fine,” Dean decides, taking a deep breath.

Cas’s bright blue eyes widen. “Are you certain?”

Dean nods, although he’s not sure if he could say no to anything with the way Cas is looking at him right now, so open and honest and happy. He’ll do anything he can to make him look that way forever, he realizes. “Yeah, it’s fine. Promise. I love it, Cas. I love you.”

Suddenly he’s in Cas’s arms again, and he’s not complaining, not one bit. Breakfast is long forgotten by now – well, maybe not by Sam, but he snuck out a few minutes ago to give them some privacy, and Dean doesn’t want to think about Sam right now.

A jolt of warmth spreads through him, accompanied by the woosh of flapping wings, and Cas spends the rest of the day showing instead of telling. For the second time that morning, Dean is wrapped in Cas’s bedsheets, and his chest rises and falls quickly with his heavy breaths. The angel traces lazy circles on Dean’s upper arms, and the hunter sighs in complete and utter contentment – no, happiness. He shifts so his head rests on Cas’s chest, the soft patter of hair there tickling his ears, and has only one coherent thought running through his brain.

How is he ever going to walk past the library again without being reminded of Castiel’s… unholier methods of telling Dean he is beautiful?

***

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading! I'm currently working on a prequel to this one-shot focusing on the process of Dean helping Cas become more comfortable in his body, which takes place a few weeks prior to this one. Stay tuned for that if you're interested by following me here and on Instagram at NayaWarbler! Also, please, if you're inspired and an artist like our Castiel, feel free to draw up some fanart for this little fic and I'll be sure to include it :)


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